The Tragedy of Darth Tyranus the Fool
by His Majesty the Emperor
Summary: Many have heard of the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. Others have heard the Tale of Darth Sidious the Sly. Many more have heard of the Tragedy of Darth Vader the Feared. But has anyone given any thought to the Tragedy of Darth Tyranus the Fool?


**Special thanks to Loteva for inspiring me to write a Dooku one shot. Special thanks also to Matthew Stover for his absolutely beautiful prose in the novelization of Revenge of the Sith, upon which this story is inspired. As always Star Wars is owned by whoever owns it. That's not me. I am not making any money on this story. Please leave a review!**

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This is what it feels like to be Count Dooku, forever.

In this moment, you find yourself in the performance of a lifetime. The stage is set for the finale of a grand epic. It is a tale of brave heroes and dastardly villains, of love and loss, of camaraderie and combat, death and despair. You are both its primary character and its director. And the entire galaxy watches with rapt attention and bated breath. Beyond the windows of the General's Quarters a great battle rages.

Starfighters dogfight.

Multi kilometer capital ships unleash devastating barrages upon one another.

Bombers unleash their payloads on soldier and civilian alike.

On the surface of the world beneath your feet the biological and the technological tear into one another with abandon.

The streets run red with the blood of thousands, if not millions.

And this horrific scene is replicated across over a hundred thousand worlds.

The Republic is in its death throes, thrashing violently against the inevitable like a rabid animal.

And you are going to be the one to finally put it down.

But none of this matters. Not the death of billions of people, not the devastation of whole planets, not the end of a civilization that has stood for twenty five thousand years. No. All of this is nothing more than icing on the proverbial cake. The real event, the event that matters, is the event that is occurring right now. And it is because of you that this event shall be possible. This is the event that you have waited for every day of your eighty three year life.

It is here, on this stage that the villain meets the hero. As is often the case in these performances, the hero and the villain engage in a duel. Your world is consumed by whirling blades and swishing clothes. _Parry, jab, block, thrust, jab, thrust, strike, jab, strike, parry._ You dance a deadly dance. A single misstep could be your demise. But you do not misstep.

Yet.

The dance intensifies. Faster and faster your body moves. Your blade becomes a scarlet blur.

But it is not enough.

Your opponent matches your every move.

He is faster than you are.

He is stronger than you are.

He is _better _than you are.

It pains you to know this. For years your skills with the saber were unmatched. You held Yoda himself at bay in more than one duel. Countless Jedi have fallen at your blade.

But it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because you know.

You know you are going to lose this fight.

But it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because you intend to lose this fight.

You always intended to lose this fight.

The outcome of this duel was predetermined years before it even occurred.

You just didn't expect to end quite this way.

In one graceful hacking motion your opponent's blade cleaves through fabric, flesh and bone. The pain and shock of this sudden defeat force you to your knees. Your opponent catches your saber's hilt in midair and ignites its blade, holding both his and yours to your throat as you find yourself on your knees.

At his mercy.

How undignified.

A sudden laugh erupts from a corner of the room. Our audience is amused by our performance.

He speaks.

He says nine words.

Nine words are all it takes to change the course of the story.

"Good Anakin, good. Now kill him. Kill him now."

That wasn't in the script.

That _wasn't_ in the script.

That WASN'T in the script.

You have been deceived.

You once wore the mask of an aristocrat; haughty, cultured, composed, regal, sophisticated.

In this moment your mask shatters into a thousand shards and is replaced by your true face. Betrayal, shock, fear and concern are now evident. But the boy doesn't notice. All he can focus on is the torrent of emotions that threaten to consume him whole, that and the voice of our audience.

Time seems to slow down, and the course of a few tense seconds feels like an eternity.

It was all a lie. It always has been. He never intended for you to rule at his side. You were nothing but a placeholder, an errand boy to do His bidding while He plotted and schemed. It was all a scam. You were never a Lord of the Sith. You were never the master of your own fate. You were never the puppet master as you fancied yourself. You were a puppet, just like everyone else. You were fooled, just like everyone else.

In hindsight it was obvious.

Throughout the Republic you are loathed by all. You are burned in effigy. Your very name elicits rage and is spat like the most foul of oaths. He said that you would pretend to be repentant. You would claim to the masses that you had been strong armed by the Separatist Council into starting and prolonging the war. When the time was right you would defect to the Republic, claiming that Grievous, Gunray and their ilk had used you as a figurehead, a mindless demagogue voicing their message of hate and disunity. You would live out the rest of the war (what little was left to it) in comfort. And when the time was right you would join your master by his side and cleanse the galaxy of the filth that had brought it to this sorry state. And the people would accept this lie, just as they have accepted every lie this war has told them. You would be one of the most powerful men in the galaxy, and history would vindicate you for all time.

This was a fool's hope. It could never have worked. You see that now. You were the final test Skywalker had to pass, nothing more, and nothing less. Your death shall be Skywalker's initiation into the Order of the Sith Lords. Your blood shall baptize him into the Brotherhood of Darkness.

You are a sacrificial lamb to a trickster god and His new disciple.

Your mind screams and rails against this. Every fiber of your being begs action. You want to scream that He is behind it all. He is the mastermind. You want to say that you were a deluded puppet. You want to say that you were deceived. You want to live.

And yet your mouth doesn't move. You don't make a sound.

Because you know it doesn't make a difference.

Despite this change in the script the show must go on, whether you like it or not.

You know now that you were never the lead in this play. It was always about Anakin Skywalker and Him. You have played your part well, and now the curtain is about to fall on you for now and forever. And it doesn't matter what you say, for Skywalker will never believe anything you say.

You have sacrificed everything for nothing. You did this out of principle. You saw the writing on the wall. You saw society crumbling around you. You saw the corruption in the halls of government. You saw the cruelty and injustice that ran rampant across the cosmos. And you saw the Jedi in their high towers, secure in their power, stuck in their ways, decaying and crumbling just like the Republic they had sworn to protect.

You saw that there was no way to fix the system. The only way to truly mend things was by starting all over again. The galaxy needed to be reborn, and you would be the man to make sure the Brave New World being forged was one of strength and order.

And so you sold your soul to the Darkness. You disavowed your former friends and allies. You lied. You stole. You murdered. By your words thousands of worlds and billions of people were seduced to the Darkness. You rose up an army and brought down ruin and terror upon the galaxy. And you did it for your principles. You did it because you believed that no matter the cost the ends do justify the means. You thought you were doing the right thing, though your methods were _uncivilized_.

But it doesn't matter. None of it does. Not your principles, not your strength, not you intellect, not your impeccable manners, not your wealth. All that you have done, all that you have striven for, all that you have accomplished has been to further the goals of a power hungry tyrant. You are of no more use to Him. And so He is going to cast you aside after you have finished playing your part.

"I shouldn't." the boy murmurs. He _yearns_ to do it. All Anakin needs is His permission.

"Do it." He hisses. In this moment He isn't even trying to hide His true self from us. But Anakin never notices the coldness in His voice. He is far too focused on his inner turmoil and his desire to end your existence.

In the seconds before the blades separate your head from your body, your mind goes back to a memory.

You remember Him telling you about the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. And you can't help but wonder if after this day He will ever tell anyone about the Tragedy of Darth Tyranus the Fool, a man who blindly sold his soul, who let his principles blind him to the atrocities he had committed and in so doing had damned himself forever in the eyes of all who knew and heard of him. A man so easily fooled by the poisoned promises of a demon given human form.

In this last moment your face is one of composure and acceptance. There is a hint of sorrow in your eyes, but also of determination.

Despite what He may think, you have not lost everything.

You are still a cultured gentleman.

You are still a Count of Serenno.

You still have your pride.

And you will not lower yourself to begging for your life.

This is what it feels like to be Dooku, Count of Serenno, Darth Tyranus, Dark Lord of the Sith, for now and forever.


End file.
